Mine
by Giovanna1
Summary: *Chapter 5 up* Roger wants Alex. (apparently, when i uploded chpt 2, ffn decided to be mean and deleted all my other reviews - sorries!)
1. I

The mage watched the dozens of pages and squires train with a lazy eye. In his hand was a goblet of wine; he swirled it, then took a careful sip of the crimson liquid, delighting in the taste. So smooth and warm to the tongue.  
From beside him, but with a more alert gaze, Duke Gareth the Elder of Naxen also watched the youths, his attention focused mainly on those who had recently entered squirehood.  
This is surprising, he commented in his nasal voice. You've never had a squire before. Why now?  
Gazing at the wine with a thoughtful expression, the mage replied, There is a certain squire who shows potential. Besides, I've taken a liking to him.  
Gareth turned his gaze to the mage. Alan of Trebond?  
The mage hardly managed to suppress his snort. Shaking his head, he replied, No. He's a page. The boy I have in mind is - He waved his wizard's rod languidly at the pages, Alexander of Tirragen.  
The Duke's gaze returned to the pages and rested on the youth in question. He's an excellent swordsman - not unlike yourself, Your Grace.  
The mage accepted the subtle compliment with a nod. I want him, he commented, turning around and starting for the doors which lead back inside the palace. He's mine.  
  
  
Why is it that all of the practice blades are so blunt? grumbled Alex, carefully going through the sword rack. It's no fun fencing with dull blades.  
Prince Jonathan shot his friend an amused grin as he pulled a random sword out and hoisted it, testing its balance. The idea is to minimize injury, he pointed out, moving to the middle of the court and beginning to stretch.  
Dull blades cause more injury, Alex announced, finally grabbing a blade. A hand thrust into his pocket, the other loosely around the sword's hilt, he approached Jonathan, who was finishing his warm ups. Can you imagine how messy it'd be if you were stabbed with a flat point? He shuddered for effect.  
Laughing, the Prince stepped away from Alex, readying his weapon at the same time. Maybe we should give Alan extra tutorage. Sklaw's bound to pair them off sometime soon. Guard!  
Immediately, Alex blocked Jonathan's attack, then smoothly reversed his blade and started the offense. Doesn't Alan have that new sword? he asked between strikes, never missing a beat. The one that gave your cousin a scare?  
I don't see how you could forget it, Jonathan replied dryly. He whipped his blade down, aiming for Alex's feet, but his friend blocked the assault smoothly. Roger had most of us in shock that class. Alan didn't seem too happy.  
Frowning, Alex shoved his sword down and forward. He caught Jonathan's blade with his; without a change in his serene expression, he brought the sword back to him in one quick jerk. Jonathan's weapon fell to the floor.  
Chuckling, Jonathan held his hands up in a submissive gesture. I'll never beat you, he said. Shooting his friend a grin, he picked up his sword and went to put it away.  
It takes a man to acknowledge that he cannot be beaten, started a new voice. A smiling Duke Roger stepped out from the shadows, hand on the hilt of his own sword, which was sheathed and swinging from his belt. I'm glad you don't consider yourself too high to do such a thing, Jonathan.  
Accepting the compliment with a nod, Jonathan replied, I learned long ago that I can't beat Alex. He's just too good.  
The Duke's eyes lingered over Alex for a brief second before flicking back to his cousin. Is he? he asked with a cheerful grin.   
The youth approached the Duke. Your Grace?  
Would you care to duel? The Duke gestured at his sword. With sharp blades?  
Alex blinked, not sure if he was hearing correctly. With _real_ blades? he asked. When Roger nodded, a slow grin spread on his face. Of course, Your Grace. Quickly, he shoved his practice sword away and picked up his own weapon, a beautiful thing with a slender, deadly blade.  
Jonathan backed away from his cousin and his yearmate. I'll leave you two to it, he said, smiling teasingly. I don't want to be here when the mighty clash. With a nod, he left.  
Roger watched Alex peel his tunic off with unreadable blue eyes. The youth made sure his shirt was safely tucked in, then walked back onto the the court.  
I have a question for you, Roger commented, drawing his sword.   
Instantly, Alex fended off the attack. Yes, Your Grace?  
Never missing a strike, the Duke asked, Has anyone asked for you yet? His voice was audible over the crash of metal meeting metal, but only just. Any offers from knights?  
Frowning as he was driven back, Alex shook his head. No offers. He swirled his sword in a half-circle, aiming for his opponent's side; Roger blocked it in one fluid movement, then reversed his blade and aimed for Alex's chest. Alex sprang back, landing deftly on both feet and panting slightly.  
Roger smiled to himself. The boy was good. Very good. Under his wing, he could be made into a ruthless fighter. Any knights in mind?  
Alex shook his head. Not really. His frown deepened when he was forced back another three steps. Suddenly, his eyes met the Duke's; without a moment's hesitation, Alex sprang forward, sword swinging down. If Roger hadn't blocked successfully, he would've been split in two; Alex knew this well.  
After several more minutes of dueling, Roger caught Alex unawares and rested his sword's point under the youth's chin. Would you like to be my squire?  
Alex raised an eyebrow. He pushed the blade away from him and took a step back, sheathing his sword. It would be an honor, Your Grace, he replied with a small bow.  
Again, Roger smiled to himself. _Perfect._


	2. II

[A year or so later]  
Someone was pounding on the door.   
With a groan, Alex rolled out of bed and went to his door, yawning sleepily. Opening it, he blinked rapidly when the light from the hallway flooded his room, rendering him unable to see who his visitor was.  
Jonathan, Raoul, Gary, and Alan marched into the room, each one of them holding a package of some sort. They dumped everything on his bed, grinning and exchanging amused glances.  
Is it Midwinter? Alex guessed, running a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. I'm afraid I haven't done my Midwinter shopping if it is. My apologies. He sat on a free space in his bed, yawning again.  
Gary snorted. Your head is in the clouds - it's your birthday, Alex! He picked up a rather large package and tossed it to him. Alex caught it with a grunt.  
Should I be wary? he asked dryly as he grabbed his dagger and cut the thick wrapping paper and string away, leaving a coat of silver-coated mail to fall onto his lap.  
I thought your old one was getting rusty, Gary explained. Besides, you've been growing again.  
Alex carefully folded the coat, nodding his thanks to Gary as he picked up the next package. It was small and heavy; the paper fell away to reveal a dark box. Curious, he opened it, grinning widely when he saw what was inside. A Raven Armory dagger, Jonathan? He hefted the deadly weapon, then shot the Prince a mockingly suspicious look. What do you want?  
Jonathan laughed and slapped his friend on the back. It's gift, you dolt. Given freely.  
Placing the dagger over his coat, Alex opened the other two packages; Alan had given him a pair of black gauntlets, studded with dark emeralds, and Raoul's gift was a black leather belt, studded with emeralds to match the gauntlets.  
After he carefully put the gifts away, he turned to his friends and said in a quiet, very earnest voice, Thank you. Then his face turned teasing. I'm expecting more at the party I know you all have planned for me and -   
The rest was cut off as Jon and Gary jumped on him and attacked him with pillows.  
  
  
The small birthday party the Prince and his friends had organized was well under way and going without a hitch when Duke Roger knocked on the open door, dressed in dark blue robes which brought out the color of his eyes. Without waiting for permission, he stepped inside, eying the group of friends coolly.  
Jonathan called cheerfully from where he was wrestling with Alan's cat. Come join us!  
Roger eyed the Prince with a glimmer of _some_thing in his eyes, then shook his head. I just came to wish my squire a happy sixteenth and inform you that tomorrow is a training day, so it would be wise to end the party soon.  
Over the rim of his goblet, Alex nodded his thanks, then drained the drink down. He sat quietly as his friends started to clear the food away, dark eyes glittering as they joked around and grumbled halfheartedly about the morning's lessons.  
Thank you, he told them when they filed out of the room. I enjoyed this. I should have birthdays more often.  
Jon gave him a mock punch on the arm as he stepped out. We expect the same from you, Alex, he said warningly; his expression was teasing.  
Of course, Alex replied with a small bow. Goodnight guys.  
With a unanimous goodnight', they returned to their own quarters; Alex closed the door with a sigh.  
Your friends are very considerate, Roger stated suddenly. With a start, Alex turned and gazed at his mentor.  
I didn't know you were still here, he confessed. He walked back to his bed and sat down with a small yawn.  
Expect the unexpected, Roger quoted, crossing his arms over his chest and gazing down at his squire, who gave him a stare-for-stare. Finally, the Duke smiled. He approached Alex, spreading his robes and reaching underneath them.  
For you, he said simply, pulling out a long, sheathed sword and handing it to Alex, who took it and carefully unsheathed it. A long silver blade shimmered in the firelight, the gems encrusted in the hilt throwing off fantastic illuminations. If you recall, I mentioned that I work with jewels as a hobby. I thought you needed a nicer sword. The blade is wicked, if I do say so myself.  
Alex tore his eyes off the weapon and flicked them towards Roger. They positively glowed. I don't know what to say, other than... He swallowed. It's beautiful, Master.  
A beautiful sword for a beautiful man.  
Silence.  
Then Alex stood up. He left the sword on the bed and went to the mirror, where he examined his reflection for a moment before turning and gazing at Roger, his face blank.  
It's inevitable, you know, Roger commented as if nothing was wrong. I knew it since the moment I laid eyes on you.  
What do you want? Alex asked in a strained whisper, clenching and unclenching his fists.  
The Duke's smile was warm as he slowly approached his squire. I should think it's obvious, he replied. He was now directly in front of Alex, who was forced a step back. Roger kept on getting nearer, so several seconds later, the young man was pressed against the wall.  
What do you want? Alex repeated, his voice a hiss. He raised a hand as if he were intending to strike the Duke, but Roger pinned it against the wall, directly over Alex's head, and drew even closer, so that his lips grazed Alex's ear as he whispered,  
I want you, Alex. He paused, brushing back a lock of hair from Alex's face; Alex had frozen, but his eyes flicked around the room like a frightened animal. I always have, and I always will. Deny me and I might as well die.  
Suddenly, Alex used his free hand to shove Roger away, but Roger, possessing quick reflexes, sprang back. A small scuffle ensued; the squire trying to claw away from between the wall and his master, and the master trying to keep the squire between him and the wall.  
Mithros, Alex, why must you make it so hard? Roger breathed. He shoved Alex back again, hard enough that when the youth's head connected to the wall, he partly lost consciousness, and went limp. He slumped into Roger's arms, groaning softly and blinking rapidly, trying to still the moving room.  
Leave - me - alone...  
Oh no. Roger lowered himself to a kneeling position, Alex still lying in his arms. I can't do that.  
Alex glared up at him, although his expression was still rather dazed. You won't...get away with this, he said through clenched teeth. You won't - mark my words, I won't _let_ you get away with this; I won't let you do this to me! His fingers clawed at his belt; gods bless it, he had unclipped his dagger and left it on his desk...  
But I'm doing it already, murmured Roger. Then he lifted Alex's head towards him and, almost reverently, kissed the young lips. He felt Alex struggle weakly, but when he buried one of his hands in his hair and hardened the kiss, Alex surrendered.  
he demanded in a weak voice when Roger pulled away.   
replied Roger, stroking his smooth cheek. I love you.


	3. III

Alex handed his horse to a waiting hostler, face drawn. Shivering, he hurried to his chambers, his clothes soaked with melted snow, and pulled on something warm and dry before sitting down on the bed and hiding his face in his hands.  
_What did I _do_?_ he thought desperately, recalling the incident that had occured right before he'd gone on border duty. It had been more than a week since that odd duel he'd had with Alan - and he'd broken his friend's collarbone...  
_Am I losing my mind?_ he asked himself, getting up and looking outside. Alex hadn't let himself think about the incident for the entire border patrol, but now that he was back... _I would never harm Alan...and it's all so fuzzy now..._  
With a sigh, he poured himself some brandy and drank the entire tumbler down, enjoying the warmth which immediately spread through his body. He was pouring a second when the door swung open, admitting his old master, dressed elegantly as usual, his blue eyes glittering.  
You're back.  
Alex nodded as he drank down the second cup. Wiping his chin, he set the cup aside and approached Roger, closing the door and carefully locking it. I need to talk to you.  
Roger crossed his arms, an eyebrow raised. No I missed you, beloved'? A smile appeared on his face when Alex shook his head impatiently. Talk. I'm all ears.  
Alex rested his eyes on the floor. Something happened...on the day I left for patrol. He swallowed. All I can remember is that I was having a practice duel with Alan - and then suddenly... He flicked his eyes to Roger. Suddenly I had broken his collarbone. I would have killed him if Sir Myles hadn't intervened - but why would I want to kill Alan? He's my friend! He took a raspy breath and ran a hand through his hair. I think I'm losing my mind.  
  
The younger man looked up at the Duke, who approached him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Listen to me, he continued. His voice sounded odd. It was a mere accident. The both of you got carried away. An accident, nothing more. Nothing less. Roger tilted his head to the side, eyes intent on Alex's face.   
Slowly, Alex nodded. Then he gave a secretive little smile. I missed you, Master, he informed Roger in his quiet voice, plucking the hand off his shoulder and bringing it to his lips, where he kissed it softly. Did you miss me?  
Roger chuckled. What do you think, my old squire? he replied, twining an arm around Alex's narrow waist so he could pull the younger man close.  
Alex volunteered. His dark eyes searched Roger's face, lighting up when the Duke nodded. I'd hoped so, he whispered, kissing Roger gently.  
With a laugh, Roger returned the kiss.


	4. IV

When Alex arrived that night, the palace was a-buzz with activity. Dourly dressed priests of the Black God walked through the wings reserved for residential nobility, middle-aged knights gossiped in furious whispers, well-dressed ladies gathered in large groups, some wiping their eyes with lace handkerchiefs, others hissing about something shameful.  
  
Shaking his head, he unlocked the door to his chambers and stepped inside, happy to see that palace servants had lit a fire and that the magelights were glowing steadily, illuminating the otherwise dark room. With a tired sigh, he dropped his packs on the ground and perched on the end of his bed so he could pull his boots off.  
  
A moment later, someone knocked on the door. Before Alex could get up and respond, it swung open, admitting the dark-haired Delia of Eldorne. She was pale, her eyes huge in a carefully painted face. Delia gazed at Alex in silence for a full minute, then said in a bleak voice,  
  
He's dead.  
  
Alex stared at her. Who - He stopped, cleared his throat, and tried again. Who is?  
  
  
  
  
  
The red-haired mage whirled, his silver-edged black robes swishing quietly. His violet eyes blazed as he glared at the brunette, her own green eyes defiant, daring him to do something. Both of them were oblivious to the nobles staring at them, the dancing forgotton.  
  
The man suddenly began to laugh. You push me, Delia, he accused, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. You push me to the limit.  
  
Her mouth formed words, but she didn't voice them. But a gasp did manage to escape her when the man continued.  
  
I can do _any_thing that Denmarie the Earth-Shaker did, he announced in a loud, clear voice. He glanced at the woman, eyes narrowing. Including bringing him back.


	5. V

**Right. First I'd like to say thanks for the reviews! So thanks!  
Anyways, this fic is going further than I thought it would go. At first it was just simple, short m/m slash, but hey...you know me. Nothing is ever simple or short with my fics. :D  
I'd just like to say that the red-haired, purple-eyed mage in the last chapter is Thom. You guys need to reread Lioness Rampant, or some bits of it, at least. Delia dared Thom to bring Roger back. Which is what he's doing in this chapter. It's insane, this chapter, but then, it's supposed to be. However way you read it. Insane. It's not supposed to make much sense. This is Roger-after-death we're talking about, remember?  
Giovanna**  
  
  
Voices. Voices everywhere.  
  
_Where?  
_  
There. Right above his head - to the left of him, to the right, behind him. But all above. Was that possible? Dim voices. _Why are they so dim?  
_  
Darkness. Why was it so dark? And cold? Stone pillow under his head... The funeral march ran through his mind. The haunting notes wafting to his supposedly dead ears, to be imprinted in his mind forever. It was for him. All for him.  
  
But no crying. No tears were shed at Roger of Conté's funeral.  
  
_Why didn't they cry?  
_  
He thought he was dead. They all did, but him especially. _Her_. Demon newly made knight. Red hair - violet eyes - low voice.  
  
_That voice.  
_  
There. The one above. The one _straight_ above his head, muttering incomprehensible words, words which reeked of raw power.  
  
_It hurts!_ he wanted to scream. He thought it instead, thought it as hard as he could as he shifted in his bed. _No bed,_ he realized, freezing. He used numb senses to feel what exactly he was lying on. Stone. Cold stone. Stone pillow. Stone.  
  
_It's a crypt_. The realization was immediately followed by pure horror. Something - some part of him was writhing; his mind? His body was _attempting_ to shudder and shake, but it was so cold, so stiff, unused for such a long time that it couldn't. Hardly. Because with every arcane word muttered above his head, he felt more...alive.  
  
_I'm not dead! I never was! A ruse - Sorcerer's Sleep, that's what it is, not death. Never death. A trick so I could return and kill them! Kill them all!  
_  
The muttering was steadily getting louder and clearer. Through his eyelids, he could see a violet illumination. It flickered as he struggled to open his eyes, mentally screaming at the pain.  
  
He couldn't do it. His body wasn't responding. If he had gone whole and well, snapping out of this death-like sleep would've been easy. But there was this gaping _hole_ in his chest, not to mention numerous wounds on his shoulders and arms -  
  
_No. There aren't.  
_  
That violet illumination was now under his skin. It breathed life into dormant muscles, healed wounded tissues, burned out the Sleep. Lungs demanded air - he filled them obediently, gasping as they painfully expanded, then contracted again.  
  
Another word with a stench of power was uttered. Wincing as he flickered his eyes open, he managed to distinguish the color of the magic.  
  
Purple. With a tinge of orange.  
  
_Trebond. Mine.  
_  
With eyes which were adjusting rapidly to the dimness of the room, adjusting to use once more, he saw his savior. Red haired, violet-eyed Thom of Trebond, his short, stocky form shining with sweat. Why, even his clothes were sticking to him; a mild inconvenience the mage ignored as he completed the spell with a harsh Word of Power.  
  
With a gasp, he stiffened, his back arching from the cold stone as _something_ was ripped out of him. Orange. Orange magic. His Gift was fleeing his body, swirling in the air for a brief second - and then it was gone, united with the stone of his crypt. Information flooded his mind as he relaxed his limbs, taking deep, regular breaths to calm his now rapidly beating heart. _Dolls/Queen under water/Alan of Trebond broke into private workrooms/trial by combat/illusion/double sword/attack/run through/Alex away/Delia a witness to /Alex and Delia mourning/Delia convinced Thom of Trebond to bring me back/me/Roger of Conté/him - her, Alanna of Trebond, friend of Alexander of Tirragen/Alex/awake, alive!/  
_  
And Roger began to laugh.


End file.
